All Things Bright & Beautiful
by Scribere Est Agere
Summary: There are all kinds of light. A Law & Order 100 Plus Challenge. Post-Blind Spot.


**Title:** All Things Bright and Beautiful  
**Author:** Scribere Est Agere  
**Pairing:** Goren/Eames  
**Spoilers:** Post-_Blind Spot_  
**Rating: **T  
**Disclaimer: **These characters do not belong to me.

**Summary:** There are all kinds of light.

For the Law & Order 100 Plus Challenge: Light

//

She thought a lot about God and all things even vaguely religious while she hung blind and bound by her wrists. She thought about words like _survival_ and _mercy_, _saviour_ and _miracle_. She tried to strike all words like _slaughter_ and _brutalized_ and _victim_ from her mental vocabulary.

She did not want to die here.

She didn't spend much time thinking about her own death, even though she was a cop and knew the statistics all too well. When she did picture her demise she was old and in her bed, surrounded by children and grandchildren, her husband, maybe. But not here, not here.

She was not a religious person and she rarely made it to church these days but she was bargaining. She couldn't stop bargaining. _If I get out of here, I will—_; then, _I mean_ when _I get out of here when I get out of here when I get out I will…I will—_

I will.

Please please please let me get out of here please please—

_I will not die here._

And for good measure she made a mental list of everything she believed in, past and present:

Santa Claus.

Redemption.

Forgiveness.

Love at first sight.

Love, in general.

That Bobby was looking for her.

And she really believed, for the first few hours at least, that she'd get out alive.

//

Everything was too bright, too harsh, too angled, too close. His head throbbed and he could feel sweat leaking through his shirt and then his jacket as they walked. He was aware of the sun. It was sunny and hot and the shadows and light hurt his eyes. He was aware of people around them strolling, laughing. How could that be?

_- So you have to start by accepting the worst possible outcome._

_- No._

The problem was he couldn't think, couldn't think at all.

//

It was the absence of light that was killing her. The screams were horrifying, of course, but the darkness was where the monsters hid and the not knowing, the not seeing what was happening was so much worse. Her imagination made the dark swell in her head until that's all there was, which, she supposed, was the whole point.

//

Opening the trunk was the second worst moment of his life.

_Body!_

And he died for a moment.

//

The bargaining wasn't getting her anywhere and desperation was setting in. And she still couldn't fucking _see_.

To force the dark out, she conjured faces of people she loved:

Her parents.

Her nephew.

Her sister.

Bobby.

The thought that she'd never see these people again, never hear their voices, never tell them _how much—_

She pulled the blindfold off.

She would not die there.

//

_So she's…she's trapped?_

He started crying then but not because she might not get away; because she might be _alive_.

//

Metal and wires and hooks and her heels slamming against cool concrete. She could see everything but in some ways it was so much worse.

I will not die here. I will not die here. I will not die here. I will not die _here_.

//

He drank four cups of greasy lukewarm coffee from the vending machine in quick succession, sugar no milk, Styrofoam bowing between his fingers. Then he watched Declan through the glass, lips moving, mumbling god knows what to himself, slamming his hand down flat on the table for emphasis from time to time. He wanted to ask Eames what she thought and it hit him that she wasn't _here_. Then he went to the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and quietly threw everything up, gagging on bitter, brown liquid that burned his throat and made his eyes tear even more.

//

There are all kinds of light, she realized.

Sunshine.

Visible.

Ultraviolet.

Infrared.

Ambient.

Daylight.

_Merciful_.

//

There was a small window, high, barred, but sunlight spilled through it and her fingers could reach it and reach through.

She'd never seen anything so beautiful.

//

_- That's why it could be you. I'm tired of it! Where is she?_

_- I have no idea._

Bobby believed him and that's when he knew it, when he knew it was true and she really might not be coming back to him.

//

Ross found him bent over the bathroom sink, scrubbing cold water into his eyes because he didn't know what else to do.

"Goren." His voice reverberated against the tiles, made Bobby think of caverns and all things lost. "They found her."

Bobby lifted his head, let the water drip from his eyes.

_What? What?_

Ross nodded.

"Alive."

//

_I'm sorry._

He would have said it a million times, would have it tattooed across his face if he thought it would make a difference.

//

_- Jo—_

_- Hmm?_

_- It's time._

And the last light went out.

//

"So it was her," she said, flat, accepting. He could only nod. Everything hurt. He dug his fingers into his thighs if only to keep from grabbing at her.

"Eames," he said. And, "Alex."

She didn't even feel angry. She'd seen Jo in the interview room. She'd seen the raw, old hurt then, then neglect, the years of betrayal. She saw it all and she couldn't even feel angry now, after everything. Jo was a victim here as much, maybe even more so, than she.

Redemption. Forgiveness.

Because well, fuck. God made her, too, right?

//

"Do you believe in God?" she asked that night. He watched her, wondering if she really wanted a response or if she was just talking because. He didn't care, particularly. Just hearing her voice was enough, but still. She stopped fidgeting and looked up at him with those eyes. She wanted an answer. Fuck.

He breathed in, then out with a sound that rattled his chest.

"If God's responsible for bringing you back then…" He shrugged, clutched his thighs.

She nodded.

It was enough to make a girl go back to church.

//

"You don't _have_ to stay here, you know," she said at 3:07 a.m. She'd rolled on her side, opened her eyes and found him watching her. There was just enough light from the hallway to see. He smiled, just. So did she.

"I…don't?"

"No. I mean…you don't look very comfortable."

"I'm fine." He shifted on the chair, realized he hadn't moved in several hours. He couldn't feel his legs. He added "Really," to emphasize the point but the way she rolled her eyes, even in the near dark, made him think she was on to him.

"Why don't you ask them to bring in a cot?" she said.

He nodded and she laughed.

"Or, you could just climb in here with me," she said, her lips curling along with her fingers and he almost asked if she was joking but realized he didn't want to know.

//

"You scared me," he said suddenly in the early morning light. He hadn't meant to. He had actually made a bargain with himself that he wouldn't tell her one single thing about how he'd been feeling for the past 24 hours. All the terror and horror and nauseating _fear_. But seeing her lying there, bandaged and white and small, it just came bubbling up and out before he could even think. He chewed on his thumbnail to make himself stop talking. There was so much more he didn't want to say.

She looked up at him. The drugs were swirling again, taking effect, but for the moment she was still very much coherent, very much in the moment.

"I know," she said. "I thought about that."

His heart lurched. He laughed a little. "You did?"

"Yeah." She shifted a little, her head making the hospital pillow rustle. "I figured you'd be more scared than I was."

Well, what to say to that? he thought.

"I mean, yeah. What would you do without _me_?" she said, her eyes over-bright and never leaving his and his only coherent response was to slide his hand across the bed sheet to meet hers. He took it, held it tight, tighter.

He thought it was a pretty honest response.

All things considered.

//

_Fin_


End file.
